12 Lessons from Israel

I've never been much of a traveler. While it's always fun being in a new place, the getting to and from are usually so awful that it's hardly worthwhile. Still, I went on a 2-week trip to Israel and returned home severely jet-lagged, annoyingly constipated and knowing the following things that I didn't know before I went, so I guess we can conclude that travel is indeed enlightening, albeit tough on the body.

1. Tel Aviv is exactly like New York City, so if you like New York you'll like Tel Aviv. If, like me, you don't read or speak Hebrew you will like it a lot less since there are no signs in English. 

2.  I never saw a bagel. Nobody eats them, instead preferring pita bread and croissants, which rival the ones in France.

3. You cannot find a newspaper in Israel. We asked at a convenience store and were told they are only sold at gas stations which are few and far between.

4. In Jerusalem's Old City, an ancient and picturesque maze of shops, food markets and residences, 100% percent of the shopkeepers hawking their wares, and I do mean hawking, are Arabs, not Jews.
 

5. There are feral street cats all over the place! In cities, in the country, on kibbutzes, hanging outside and even inside restaurants, around trash bins, basically everywhere you turn. They are like rats, only they eat the rats so there are no rats, just cats. Certainly an upgrade, but one that tears at the heartstrings if you are a cat lover.

6. The Israelis eat hummus with every meal. It's roughly a thousand times better than the stuff we call hummus here. I was told by a cab driver that if you make your own, start with Bulgarian chickpeas, soak them for 12 hours first, then cook them. Use a lot of tahini!

7. There are many, many ultra-orthodox Jewish families in Jerusalem who all wear funny-looking clothes. Basically, every street looks like a Hollywood backlot of Fiddler on the Roof or maybe Halloween except they don't go trick-or-treating.

8. Israelis are a noisy people. They tend to stay out late -- singing, dining, partying and sometimes wailing prayers at three in the morning. The children stay up late too, shouting, crying and playing games in their yards or on rooftop terraces directly adjacent to your Airbnb apartment. Bring earplugs if you hope to get to sleep before midnight.

9. There are few visible signs of trouble with enemy nations. 

10. Plugging in a heating pad from America will blow a fuse in your apartment. If your back is sore (from the marathon flight to get there), buy a heating pad there.

11. The Dead Sea looks like Coney Island on a holiday weekend, but without any rides or waves.

12. Scores of date palm forests dotting the desolate desert landscape outside of the cities are surrealistically beautiful. (See top photo.)

A Label for Everyone

Here in America we've come a long way, with a hip label for everyone. I worried that I had no label, since being straight is all but discounted as a valid way to live, and being white makes it even worse. But happily I recently found one that makes me sound relatively cool, and most important, woke. All these years I thought I was female, but it turns out that if you act, dress, behave or even think outside what is considered "the norm" for your gender, you are actually gender expansive. I feel so much better; finally I can relax and openly express who I truly am.

Back when there were just two genders, things were much more restrictive. Starting in my early teens I was indoctrinated into the wearing of high heels which were required quite often if you were a female. I always found them to be uncomfortable and impractical, especially if you had to run for a bus or from a possible rapist, but high heels were the norm so I followed suit rather than face the ire of A, my parents who insisted I wear them to temple every Friday night, on every Jewish holiday and to fancy family functions and B, society at large. (If only I had that label to fall back on then, everyone might have given me a pass and I wouldn't have bunions today.)

In my twenties and thirties I spent precious time applying makeup before I dared go out in public, including rouge, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara and even false eyelashes, despite thinking it was silly and clownish. But all the girls were doing it so I fell in line, wrongly believing I was also a girl. After all, I got my period every month so who could blame me? But now, what with men having babies and women having penises, there's a lot more freedom to show up in Crocs without makeup and fussy hair and still be accepted.

Someone should tell Caitlyn "Bruce" Jenner, who is transgender but certainly not gender expansive. She/her still hasn't heard that it's okay for women to ditch the heels and even have short hair. Sadly, at the age of 73, Caitlyn is still caught in the trap of yesterday's rules. (See photo.)

Yes, I Want Four More Years of That

Simple: Our country is a mess and is about to get a lot messier at midnight tonight when a tsunami of immigrants will begin to flood every city, town and burg, inundating every available homeless shelter, public park and arena, bringing along illegal drugs to sell and little else but the shirts on their backs. 

It wasn't a mess when Donald Trump was president. With low unemployment, no war and a strong southern border on the way to getting stronger, we were friends with Israel, Russia and even North Korea. Okay, so Trump has a big mouth and is rough around the edges, but at least he wasn't getting blow jobs in the Oval Office.

So to answer Joe Biden, who asked after Trump's appearance on CNN's Town Hall last night (which I did not see but read about), "Do you want four more years of that?" -- I say yes. And I don't care who gets it for me.

A Change of Scenery

Tomorrow morning I will get up, eat breakfast, and then fly to a war zone in another country. I have been stressing over the heightened tensions in Israel, with missiles flying overhead and people rushing into bomb shelters, even inTel Aviv, our first stop. But suddenly I'm okay with it; after all, I will be out of America for two whole weeks. 

So what's a few incoming missiles compared to two whole weeks ignoring doddering doofus Joe Biden, Donald Trump and his entourage of Adult Rape Accusers, lying scumbag George Santos who actually got elected to a seat in our legislature, and California lawmakers ready to give up to a million bucks to any slave descendant or black person who ever felt discriminated in that sick, silly state despite there never having been slaves there?

What's a few hours in a bomb shelter compared to two weeks ignorant of mass shootings by police and of police, random subway deaths in NYC caused by crazed homeless folks, deaths of innocent toddlers struck by stray bullets in Chicago, an influx of illegal migrants swarming our borders looking for freedom and free stuff to the detriment of our natural and naturalized citizens, and the inane ramblings of AOC and Kamala Harris?

So bring it on, Hamas! I've been toughened up in the USA, I can take it.

I Could Be Rich and Famous!

If I had a dollar for every man who has, over the years, sexually abused and/or defamed me, I would be as rich as that lady who sued Trump and could afford as many facelifts as she has had! I could be famous!

 Alas, I also never screamed. But I never sued either.

Praying for Peace and Halvah in Israel

Israeli halvah in a food stall in a Tel Aviv market

I will be traveling to Israel later this week and will not be taking my computer with me, or in fact any sort of "appliance" on which I could write a blog post. I will return on May 28th (unless I don't). 

Glancing through a guide book, I read about Tel Aviv's "epic nightlife." Intrigued, I looked up the word epic and found that it refers to lengthy poetry, historical sagas, and other written material describing some sort of pageantry. Searching further I found the less literary and more informal meaning, which is "on a grand scale."

I can hardly imagine what that could mean. To me, nightlife on a grand scale could only occur in New York City between the years of 1969 and 1980, otherwise I'm in bed by 10:00. Besides, I tend to avoid nightlife when it's in an area within striking distance of incoming missiles from bordering enemy nations. But that's just me.

My scaled-down expectations are simple: finding a good bagel, which I hear are rare in Israel, tasting some extraordinary halvah, which is supposedly great there, and getting back home alive, with my cat also alive (and speaking to me) when I arrive.

Pray for me.

Another Kennedy For President

I have been on Facebook for too many years to remember. In that time I have posted my blog and made a few other posts on things I felt mattered. Never has anything I have ever posted gotten more than a few "likes." Until now, when I wrote on the page for Robert F. Kennedy Jr., "Our only hope for the future!" In the past 17 hours it has gotten 69 "likes" and a few comments voicing agreement.

I haven't voted Democrat since Jimmy Carter lost, but I now plan to register as Democrat to vote in the primary for Kennedy, a brilliant man with new ideas for diverting our country from the dire path it has taken since Biden took office. 

Not only is Kennedy married to Cheryl Hines, a beautiful actress who would class up the White House, but he has something wrong with him, and who doesn't love that these days? Let's hear it for spasmodic dysphonia, a specific form of an involuntary movement disorder called dystonia that affects only the voice box. 

It's about time, if you ask me. His speech may sound a bit gravelly, but at least his brain is in fine working order, unlike President Mumbles and Vice President Cackles, our current lame "leaders."

Leaving America Could Save My Life

"The United States has faced at least 190 mass shootings so far this year, according to the Gun Violence Archive. There have been more mass shootings than days in 2023."- ABC News

Six days from now I will board a plane and spend 10 or more very uncomfortable hours dulled by tranquilizers and crammed into a tiny seat and hopefully arrive in another country, where I will spend the following two weeks. Despite all the discomfort, it's called a "vacation," although my life at home in Maine is quite pleasant, especially now that spring has come and flowers are blooming everywhere, making me reluctant to vacate. But, being part of a family means sometimes ceding personal desires, so off I go. 

That country is Israel, and until recently I have been afraid to go there. After all, it's a war zone, right? But in light of a spate of dire events here in America, I'm starting to think perhaps I will be safer there than right here in the USA. 

The most recent mass shooting occurred yesterday afternoon at a shopping mall in Texas, resulting in the death of eight innocent people (plus the perp) and the injury of seven more, three of whom are in critical condition. This makes my planned trip to a shopping mall later today an even scarier proposition than traveling to Israel, where security is very tight in all public spaces. I think I'll wait and buy my underwear there.

Eating Money

There is a restaurant here in Maine called The Lost Kitchen. It's in a farmhouse somewhere, I forget but you can look it up. It's run by a woman who I guess is a great cook, but then there are lots of us around. Anyway, this particular woman had the chutzpah and the backing to open her little piece of heaven and charge outrageous amounts for meals people chew, swallow, digest and poop out into the toilet the next day.

The price of one of her meals is fixed at $250 plus a tip of $62.50, making it $312.50 per person, not including wine or beer which costs extra and you can't bring your own. (Are you still with me?) The meal begins at 5:30 pm sharp and lasts for five hours. So my husband thought it might be a fun experience despite the price, and thus we embarked on the rigorous journey of securing a table at that establishment. I figured at the very least I'd get a blog post out of it.

To get a reservation you have to send a standard-sized postcard with your name, address, email and phone number. It must be mailed on the exact date as instructed on the restaurant's website. Then they pull cards at random in a lottery beginning April 23 and call you if yours is chosen. 

Today I got the call! From a very hoity-toity sounding guy who said, "This is your happy call!" He left a message saying I had to call back, leave my name and phone number on their voicemail, and they would call me again.

I did that. (I know, I'm an idiot.) 

Anyway, as it turned out they had "already filled the whole dining season" but had kept a very few open seats for Maine residents, because well, "Maine people aren't really our ..." and his voice drifted off, leaving me to wonder what we aren't really. But there were just two weekends left to choose from, and no tables for two. If we were a party of three or four or six they could seat us, but we are just two, so we can't go. (But if there were six of us, we could. Or three. Or four. Go figure.)

Mitch misses out on the fun experience, but I did get my blog post.

Trump Victims: So What Else Is New?

SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE:

Thus far, 83 women have come forward to accuse Donald Trump of sexual assault. The cases vary in details but share key features: 

All of the accusers are in their mid-to-late 70s and have kept quiet about the incident for 35 to 40 years.

The reason they never told the authorities was because they thought nobody would believe them, until suddenly, one day, they thought everyone would believe them. (Funny, huh?)  

All of the assaults allegedly took place on airplanes, trains, boats, subways, in the produce department of Gristede's and in upscale, now defunct, Manhattan department store dressing rooms.

None of the accusers have enjoyed successful romantic relationships in the ensuing years due to being traumatized by Trump's unwanted kissing, groping, licking, fondling, grabbing, pushing and force-feeding of dry tuna sandwiches. (Not enough mayo.) 

The press reports these stories to insure that Donald Trump will never be president again. Just remember, a vote for Trump is a vote for rape! 

I Was Raped By A Famous Politician

It happened 40 years ago. The dastardly event occurred inside the lingerie department of Bergdorf Goodman in New York City. No wait, that wasn't me, that was an episode I saw of SVU. And it wasn't rape, but what happened was the politician, who I couldn't name before now because I had blocked him from my mind and it's only just beginning to surface because he's running for office, was Ron DeSantis. No wait, he would have been like four years old at the time, so it couldn't have been him. This guy was older. Dammit, who was it?

Okay, just a minute, let me order my thoughts. It was definitely someone famous, I know that much. It might have been Dustin Hoffman, who I met at a the Chock Full O' Nuts on 4th Street and Waverly Place in the Village while I was a student at NYU, but he certainly didn't do it at the counter. Also, it wasn't him anyway. 

Think Andrea, think! Who was it? Oh right, it must have been Donald Trump, didn't he rape lots of women back then? Yeah, and then I never watched The Apprentice after that. Actually, I never watched The Apprentice before that either. And it wasn't at Bergdorf Goodman, it was in the dress department at Saks Fifth Avenue. Or else the shoe department at Lord & Taylor. I know for a fact that it was not at Nordstrom's.

But these details are not important! What matters is that it messed me up for the rest of my life and kept me from ever wearing sexy lingerie to bed -- I can only sleep in sweat pants and a t-shirt. This bugs my husband no end, I'm just guessing, he has never said anything but it must.

So don't vote for Donald Trump. Unless it was Joe Biden at the Statler Hotel during the 1980 Democratic National Convention when I worked for the DNC and where the entire staff was doing cocaine. (And that's the truth.) I might have been hallucinating from all the cocaine but I think not.

Anyway, don't vote for either of those two.

Speaking the Truth Is So Yesterday

Governor Greg Abbott of Texas has been "severely rebuked" for calling a spade a spade. Actually, he called illegal immigrants "illegal immigrants," and this was seen as a terrible lapse in judgment by the woke crowd who eat a bowl of euphemisms for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day.

You see, down there in Texas one of those darned illegal immigrants killed five people, execution style and for no damn reason, including two children. He is still at large. Since then, the Governor offered a $50,000 reward for his capture, noting that the killer was an illegal immigrant in the same tweet saying he sent his condolences to the family of the victims, also illegals. This was apparently "despicable" and "typical of the Republican's disregard for decency," according to some of those euphemism-eaters.

"Call a spade a spade" is a figurative expression. It refers to calling something "as it is"—that is, by its right or proper name, without "beating about the bush", but rather speaking truthfully, frankly, and directly about a topic, even to the point of bluntness or rudeness, and even if the subject is considered coarse, impolite, or unpleasant. (Wikipedia)

I don't know about you, but when I use a spade to dig in the dirt, I call it a spade. And when a crazy man kills five neighbors in cold blood, I call him a crazy man. I see no reason why we all can't know he is also an illegal immigrant -- are we afraid of hurting his feelings, or the feelings of other illegal immigrants who have broken the laws of our country?

Sorry, but I never learned how to effectively sidestep the truth. BTW, calling a spade a spade has nothing to do with denigrating black people. The expression dates back almost 500 years: 

The idiom originates in the classical Greek of Plutarch's Apophthegmata Laconica, and was introduced into the English language in 1542 in Nicolas Udall's translation of the Apophthegmes. (Wikipedia)